It’s that time of year again, sports fans. Santa has been on the radio for the past two months, robot disc jockeys and purveyors of everything muzak beating us senseless with varying renditions of Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree and Jolly Old Saint Nicholas, hoping to lighten our mood enough to loosen the old purse strings. Hallmark Channel have kicked into full Christmas mode, plastering their channels with their cookie-cutter movies which vary mostly by the changing of leading ladies (this year’s favorite, by far, is Hilarie Burton, whom I saw in an old Castle episode and was floored by not only her beauty but the fact that the casting could not have been more right). I wish they had more creativity over at Hallmark, their overuse of the five plots and rotating stars coming very close to consumer abuse. But, hey, I’m a sap.

Emitt Rhodes is not a god, but he is as close as anyone I have found, in music at least. To me, he is right up there with Buddy Holly, Elvis, Paul McCartney and the other musicians people seem to want to elevate to godlike status. Decades ago I wrote a short piece comparing Rhodes’ albums to McCartney’s first solo album, largely because they each chose to play all of the instruments, and, well, McCartney did not fare well, but that is just me. Become a superstar and you had better produce like a superstar and while McCartney did become one and hasn’t produced, Rhodes never even had a real chance. His music, though? Quarter notes through the heart. No, he is not a god, but he is among the best of the humans.

Lots going on in music these days— Apple announcing their foray into streaming (I love the headlines such as “Apple May Save the Recording Industry”— I mean, what idiot thought that one up?) and the Brian Wilson biopic (My buddy Stan Twist says that if you are either a Brian Wilson or a Beach Boys fan, you won’t want to miss it) and there are lots of new albums to go over. And, as always, old ones too. But…